


Saving the Sheriff

by wheel_pen



Series: Daisy [38]
Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Naughtiness, Vampire Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-13
Updated: 2013-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-11 18:24:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/801756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damon and Liz have had this conversation before. He just makes her forget about it, for plausible deniability. “G-d, it’s like working with the guy from Memento.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saving the Sheriff

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Daisy, my original character, moved to Mystic Falls about a year ago. There is something special about her.
> 
> 2\. This series begins with the first season of the TV show and completely diverges about halfway through the first season. Facts revealed later on the show might not make it into this series.
> 
> 3\. Underage warning: This series may contain human or human-like teenagers, in high school, in sexual situations.
> 
> 4\. The bad words are censored. That’s just how I do things.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this AU. I own nothing and appreciate being able to play in this universe.

            Fangs bared, Damon bit through the assailant’s neck and ripped away part of the flesh before plunging the stake into his heart through the back. The stake alone would’ve been sufficient, causing the young vampire’s skin to turn a dull greenish grey as the wood poisoned him; but Damon liked the additional bit of blood and violence that he was allowed to inflict in this setting.

            Of course, now he had to face the irritating part.

            He snatched the gun from the Sheriff’s hand before she could fire the wooden bullets at him from her position on the ground. “I’ll take that, thank you,” he told her, his features morphing back to normal. “I’d rather you didn’t shoot me this time. Because it _stings_ , and I just bought this shirt.”

            Liz Forbes was utterly shocked, and not a little in fear for her life. “You’re a—“

            “Yes, I’m a vampire,” Damon agreed, rolling his eyes. “I’ve been a vampire since you’ve known me.” Liz gaped at him, her usual solidity shattered in the face of such a momentous discovery. “G-d, it’s like working with the guy from _Memento_ ,” Damon complained, sitting down on a stump near her. “I’m a vampire,” he repeated. “But, I’m a _good_ vampire”—a small ambiguity for the sake of expediency—“and I help you kill the _bad_ vampires. Like this guy,” he added, kicking at the desiccating corpse. “So no need to worry.”

            Perhaps that last line was a bit optimistic. “But how can you—walk in daylight, or eat food—“ the Sheriff began in confusion.

            “Always the same questions,” Damon sighed. “Come on, Liz. Just think about it for a minute. The Salvatores were one of the Founding Families. Only we didn’t have any descendents because both my brother and I were turned into vampires during the Civil War, during the vampire round-up.”

            “Your brother,” Liz parroted faintly. “But he—goes to school—“

            “I know, he’s such a loser,” Damon agreed. “But I guess he doesn’t have as many options. Seventeen was older back then.”

            “And you—help us kill other vampires,” she confirmed, starting to get her bearings finally. “Why?”

            “Because I’m a nice person,” Damon claimed. Okay, she wasn’t buying that. “Mystic Falls is my home and I don’t want to see it overrun by a bunch of bloodthirsty punks.” _He_ liked being the only bloodthirsty punk in town.

            “Who else knows about this?” Liz demanded.

            “Finally, a good question,” Damon praised. “ _You_ know! But we decided it would be safer if you didn’t consciously recall it, in case you were questioned by the other Council members. Not everyone is as open-minded as you are,” he added cheekily.

            “What do you mean, _I_ know?” Liz asked, starting to move from confused to angry.

            “What we usually do is, you take off that vervain-filled pin you keep under your shirt”—she felt for it automatically—“and I make you forget this conversation ever took place, or that you saw me do anything unusual,” he explained reasonably.

            “No way.” Liz scrambled to her feet and Damon sighed. Always the same response.

            “Liz, if I wanted you dead, you’d be cold cuts by now,” he stated boldly, not moving from his seat. “That little pin doesn’t keep me from snapping your neck, you know.”

            “Your argument needs work,” she observed dryly.

            “At least you’re getting your sense of humor back,” he noted. “The point is, I _don’t_ want you dead. You’re my…” ‘Friend’ seemed too insincere. “…ally.”

            “If your intentions are so good, we can just tell the other Council members,” Liz suggested warily.

            “Oh, Liz, this is _so_ disappointing,” he claimed. “Really? Tell the others? _Really_? Fell and Lockwood and the other paranoid, hypocritical, pompous windbags? They’d stake me and my brother before you got two words out.”

            The Sheriff looked like she agreed with this, at least. “We’ve had this conversation before?” she checked.

            “Seven times,” he told her. “If you look at your pin you’ll find seven notches along the edge. I make a new one every time I compel you to forget.”

            Watching him suspiciously for any sudden movements, the Sheriff pulled out the brooch and looked at the edge. Sure enough, there were seven neat indentations on one side. She vaguely recalled noticing them before and wondering how they got there. She felt the weight of the jewelry in her hand and looked over at the man sitting nearby, who was casually wiping blood off his face. It was true that if he wanted her dead, it’d be easy for him to kill her—much easier than trying to convince her of this supposed partnership.

            “Give me back the gun,” she tested.

            Damon smirked and handed it over. “Sure. Here you go.” She made sure it was still loaded. It was. “Believe me yet?” he prompted. “Don’t mean to rush, but someone will come along any second to check on us, and I don’t want to have this conversation with someone else.”

            “How do I know I can trust you?” she asked him simply.

            He grinned nastily, his teeth faintly stained with blood. “Sorry. No easy answer there. You just gotta go with your gut, Sheriff.”

            Liz had been a sheriff for many years, and she came from a long line of people charged with protecting the town. She was used to listening to her instincts, even if they told her something strange. And this had to be the strangest thing they had ever told her since—well, since the last time they’d had this conversation, apparently.

            She holstered the gun and faced him. “Okay. What do I do?”


End file.
